


Pinned

by merr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin, M/M, Missing Scene, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merr/pseuds/merr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short missing scene from S04E16: On The Head Of A Pin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinned

Dean couldn't call out. He wouldn't. There was no way he was having a fucking _angel_ walk in on Alastair choking him with his current meatsuit's cock -- especially not Castiel. Dean couldn't help but think about the way Cas'd turned his head when Uriel had said they didn't care; the look on the blue-eyed vessel's face when he told Dean that he was their best hope. How could you hate someone for what they were at the same exact time you loved them for it?

Well, it wasn't love, just lust, really, so why worry? Dean was man enough to admit he'd been turned a little dumb by tail before and this wasn't any different. At least, that's what he told himself when he imagined how Castiel's bewildered eyes might roll back into his head as his body squirmed under Dean's imaginary hands. It fascinated the older Winchester, how the angel wore weariness and naivety at the same time; the idea of touching something so pure, so honest, that maybe even loving or being loved by --

Dean gasped through the bloody drool slipping from the corners of his mouth, hazel eyes pinched shut, deciding that _anyone_ seeing this, especially an angel, would be mortifying... but Castiel was last in line, right next to Sammy, for people he'd let see this if he could help it. He'd even rather have Uriel walk in than Cas, even if the human-hating prick would definitely use the opportunity to make some shitass remark. Well, remarks, plural, for as long as the two had to interact, Dean was certain.

The brunette tried to rip himself back as Alastair interlaced fingers behind his neck, tugged him down until his nose was buried in salt-and-pepper pubic hair. He grunted, trying to swallow the yelp of pain as his broken jaw was forced open wider; Alastair's answering laughter made shivers run up his spine, that smug voice searing into his ears: "Ouuh, still not disappointing me, little Winchester; keep it up, grasshopper, just like that, hmmm..."

Slowly, a rushing took over Alistair's voice in Dean's ears -- his vision filling with red, thinking of his father on the rack, under Alastair's knife, refusing for a hundred years; then his mind supplied an image of his father, under Dean's own knife and the red filtered to gray. He'd known those had been people's parents, children, wives, husbands. He'd known and yet he'd still-- Dean gagged then, coughed as his lungs screamed for air. He tried to push his shoulders forward, throw his head back, shift away, somehow, anything, and Alastiar reached down nonchalantly, pinching the brunette's nose shut.

Dean couldn't make his body gain any purchase; his vision was a field of white fireworks, popping harder and louder as his brain fed him a recording of Cas deadpanning that Uriel was the funniest angel in the garrison... then the low gravel of Cas saying he would give anything not to have to ask Dean to jump back down that rabbit hole. Dean's vision closed up for a split second, dark as midnight thunderhead, and fear was like a vice over his heart: _I'm gonna die like this; gonna go straight back to hell because I was too proud to--_

The edge of the demon killing knife scraped against Dean's adam's apple as Alastair finally tugged the human's head back, slapping his face once, twice, until Dean pulled in a wet, shuddering breath. He swore and coughed messily, eyes watering as Alastair gripped his broken jaw just right so he could plant the edge of the knife just under one snot-and-tear covered cheekbone before coaxing it deeper with a series controlled twirls.

The demon smiled through his meat, wider and wider, as a small, half-keening growl tumbled out of Dean's mouth when the blade clicked home against his molar, "Shh, shh, Dean; I know you're hungry, know you've missed me, but be patient; we have lots of time." Dean swallowed hard, grinding out Cas' name even as the knife ground up into his gums. He managed it a second time, louder, and Alastair's face darkened before he closed his hand at the throat of Dean's shirt and dragged the dazed human almost off his knees, punched him once, twice, putting all of his force behind it until Dean slumped like a rag doll.

He pinned Dean against the star, hand at the brunette's throat all the better to snarl in his face about seeing him in class bright and early and Dean was terrified, near tears, near death and _oh fuck, oh please, I can't go back and what about Sammy and who'll look out for him and I can't go back and I don't want to die_ and then Castiel was there, distracting Alastair, stabbing the bastard in the chest. Dean was falling even though Alastair wasn't, and that would have scared him if the world hadn't been tilting out of control.

The last thing Dean saw clearly was a series of snapshots fuzzed on the edges: Cas being pinned to the wall, hung there with his lips bleeding; then Sam, pressing Alastiar flat, confessing he could kill; then Castiel's stare as Sam blew Alastair right out of existence. When the darkness slipped over Dean, the last thing image he held onto was those full lips, frowning, smeared in blood, and he was muttering an apology as he finally blacked out.

Dean didn't feel like apologizing anymore when he woke up to Castiel asking if he was alright. His voice was hoarse as he asked the angel if the first seal was really his fault or not; his throat burned as he confessed his weaknesses, his doubt... no, his _certainty_ that there was no way he'd be capable of what they needed. What Sam and Cas and the entire fucking human race needed him to do, who they needed him to be.

For a split second, Dean felt smaller than he could ever remember. He hoped before he could stop himself that Castiel would reach out then, touch him, hold him -- that someone would reach for him, anyone, but god how he wished it would happen right now and the angel was right there... but the silence stretched between them and Dean turned his head away as salt water slipped down his bruised face. Not for the first time in his life, the brunette wished that tears were as powerful as rock salt at chasing away things that haunt.


End file.
